


Resistance

by justbygrace



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:16:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbygrace/pseuds/justbygrace
Summary: "Arguably the best thing that happened that night was when Rose Tyler flung a glass of champagne at his face, because at least she looked at him. "





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompted fic for dryadalis many moons ago.

Arguably the best thing that happened that night was when Rose Tyler flung a glass of champagne at his face, because at least she looked at him. At any rate, that's what John Smith thought, despite the alcohol dripping down his nose. After all, he did enjoy a good chase and she was definitely feisty, not to mention being the daughter of Pete Tyler, CEO of Vitex Industries, the only company he really considered to be a threat to his own. It was really a win/win situation. Admittedly, he hadn't been his usual suave and charming self, which had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was drop dead gorgeous in a slinky black dress and impossibly high heels, and everything to do with the fact that it was a Friday night and John was supposed to be playing Poker with his buddies, not rubbing shoulders with London's elite. When he spotted Rose Tyler across the dance floor, well, of course he was going to try his luck with the "ice queen," as she was frequently dubbed by the less than kind gossip rags. 

Standing next to the buffet table and watching her stalk away, okay, watching her arse sway away in that spectacular dress, John admitted maybe telling her that he would very much like to fuck her may not have been the best idea; he blamed it on the alcohol and too much listening to Jack Harkness' dating advice and that ridiculously tight dress. There was a part of him, the part that he really needed to get under control in the midst of a black tie affair, that desperately wanted to chase after her and to try again, but he wasn't that desperate for her attention. No, really, he wasn't. He sighed morosely and snatched another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Surely there was someone in his phone that could fulfill his needs, he couldn't possibly have offended every eligible female in the city, right? Right?

Three weeks later, John was getting a bit desperate to see Rose Tyler again, though he refused to admit that fact to anyone, not even himself. He was simply interested in knowing if she would look just as stunning in something other than form-fitting silk. And there was also the tiny fact that no one rejected John Smith, it just wasn't done. Okay, maybe they rejected him after awhile, sometimes after the first date, but never after the first sentence, no matter how tasteless said first sentence was. John had taken to haunting the areas of the city where Rose was known to frequent, not that he had done any research on where those places might be, no, he was just excellent at retaining random bits of information, that's all. And so what if they were clubs he rarely attended, it was good to get out and explore different parts of the city. Expanding his repertoire of places to take women was always a good thing. It was on the fifth straight night of downing glasses of expensive red wine and making small talk with bartenders, not to mention receiving twenty-seven phone numbers he had no intention of calling, that he finally found her again. But it was not at a club.

He was making his way home, stumbling rather inelegantly through the park, considering the merits of calling a taxi, when he just about stumbled over her. She was lying on her back in a wide open meadow, eyes fixed on the just visible constellations. He rather thought it was fate, though that may have been the alcohol talking, and flopped down next to her, determinedly ignoring her baleful stare. It was lucky, he decided, that he had almost majored in astronomy back in the day and he was absolutely delighted to share this knowledge with Rose. Rose was less delighted to hear it, though she did seem to take a great deal of pleasure in finding new and clever ways to insult him, ranging from his business to his clothes to his hair, the latter he thought was taking things a bit far. When she had apparently exhausted her supply of verbal abuse, she pushed her way to her feet and sauntered off, leading him to the discovery that yes, Rose Tyler's arse did look just as amazing in a well cut pair of jeans.

The next time John ran into Rose, he quite literally ran into her. He was rushing out of his favorite coffee house, fifteen minutes late to a meeting with an important client, and she was on her way in, and he quickly discovered two new crucial facts. One, important clients became a great deal less important when Rose Tyler was added to the equation. And two, he forgot what words were when Rose Tyler was wearing a sheer blouse. She did not seem as tongue-tied, informing him of this fact with a great deal of hand motions and a flurry of words that he couldn't quite understand since the hand motions were causing her breasts to do all sorts of delightful things. When he did open his mouth, he was just as shocked as she was when what came out of it was an invitation to dinner. She stared at him for a solid moment, jaw hanging open (and he forgot to breathe the entire time because this was suddenly the most important question he had ever asked in his life), before nodding imperiously at him, informing him that 7pm this Friday at the new Italian restaurant would be acceptable and she would meet him there. She spun on her heel and exited the shop, and he stood there, mouth flapping like a dying fish, thoughts of clients and important meetings and his ringing mobile completely forgotten.

It took fifty-nine hours, twelve minutes, twenty-one seconds, three changes of clothes, and nineteen separate breakdowns before Friday at 7pm arrived. To say that John was a nervous wreck would not be completely accurate, he was merely apprehensive, perhaps a touch concerned, that's all. Most of his brain was focused on taking care of basic necessities like breathing and staying upright, leaving very little remaining power for remembering what words were, when Rose Tyler exited a car in a red dress that really set that black one to shame. He managed to stumble forward and extend his arm, he was a gentleman at least seventy-eight percent of the time, all of his senses promptly giving up at being this close to the smell, feel, and sight of her up close and personal (though not as up close and personal as she had appeared in every single one of his daydreams for the last month). 

Afterwards, he could never quite be sure what they talked about or what they ate or drank, his entire recollection of the evening was limited to the smell of her perfume, the tantalizing dip to her cleavage, and the sound of her voice. He was pretty sure if he could find a way to bottle the combination and sell it, he could make millions overnight. He may have mentioned that at one point and discovered that if he thought Rose attractive in general, she was doubly, triply so when she was blushing. For reasons that he couldn't quite explain, she seemed to listen to whatever words were coming out of his mouth (even if he himself had no idea what they might have been), responded to him, asked him questions, and kept herself to only a handful of insulting remarks. When the meal ended and they were somehow outside the restaurant, John's brain to mouth communication once again shorted out and he found himself inquiring as to whether she would like to take a walk. 

Through a sort of divine intervention (which John didn't exactly believe in, but found himself open to the possibility more and more each moment), Rose agreed to accompany him, and the two of them wound their way down the brightly lit city streets, admiring the shop fronts and making small talk of the sort that would have at one time in his life horrified him. There was a tiny voice somewhere off in the distance whispering how this was a bad idea, how she would break his heart just like the rest, how he needed to "fuck and duck" as Jack so eloquently put it, but it was almost drowned out by the proximity of Rose Tyler, by the smell of her hair so close to his nose, and by the feel of her fingers that were miraculously laced through his. At some point, several minutes or hours or days later, they made it back to their respective vehicles, and when she went up on tiptoe, grabbed his lapels, and yanked his mouth down to hers, it was all he could do to respond to the movement of her lips. An eternity later, when his blood had officially departed for southern lands and logical thought was a thing of the past, she released him, stumbling back a few steps, before getting in her car and driving off, leaving him in a squeaky puddle in the middle of the garage.

It was twenty-seven dates, one hearty slap by her mother, eight months, three weekend getaways, nine spectacular fights, and countless rounds of phenomenal shags later when John Smith realized the one thing Rose Tyler figured out thirty seconds into their meeting: she was way out of his league. It took him years to work up the courage to ask her why she gave him another chance (and another one after that) (and several more after that one) (and oh hell, probably a thousand over the course of their relationship). She grinned at him, a tongue-touched thing that always robbed him of higher brain functions, and he had to fight hard to pay attention to the answer. "I thought you looked kinda hot covered in champagne." It took him several years after that to decide that she may not have given him a truthful answer and by then he figured it didn't matter why she stuck with him, only that she did. After all, the best thing that happened that night was when Rose Tyler flung a glass of champagne in his face.


End file.
